Matryoshka dolls
by Einsam-Schatten
Summary: Matryoshka dolls are like people's emotions...did you know that I have layers, too?


**I love writing about Russia, seriously. Can. Not. Stop.**

-

_People are like Matryoshka. They have layers of emotion and personality. No one has the same amount of layers though. As for me, I have more layers than many may think, but no one interacts with me, so no one has lifted the outer layer off, and seen the more beautiful dolls inside._

The outer layer is but mere appearance. What everyone sees. It conceals the inner layers. My outer layer looks absolutely hideous. Dressed in dark colors and splattered with twisted images. It is cruelty. It is the ugliest of all of my layers. But it was not always like that. My outer layer used to be beautiful. Childish innocence made it sparkle. But years of war took a brush and painted away the lovely colors, and made my outer layer as it is today. I hate my layer of cruelty. It represents my insanity...my sadism...my hatred...and my anger...all the things that I want so badly to cover up.

The layer under that is not gorgeous either. But it is not disturbingly ugly. It is not dark, but it is more true then the false layer that is my cruelty. My sorrow is natural. It displays colors of nostalgia and loss that I cannot explain. It reminds me of all the times that I couldn't win, but unlike the layer over this one, it's okay. The sorrow layer helps me remember. Though, it is rather depressing, I can't forget. I shouldn't even want to. If I didn't have days of tragedy and angst, what could I compare my days of warmth...happiness...and love to. And, though it hurts, it's healthy to be able to continue crying about them. Crying tells you that you cared. This layer represents my heartaches, and my days of darkness. The things I want to forget, but shouldn't.

My layer under that is known as desire. A layer, usually beautiful and colorful. It's curious, yet knows what it's doing...and what it wants. Desire is weird. The way it's been painted is like none of any of my other dolls layers. Half of her is light, with shades of absolutely stunning colors. It tells me how happy I am when I see the things I love, and want. The other half is dark. Not as dark as cruelty, but certainly darker than sorrow. This reminds me that desire means that I want it. If I want it, I don't have it. It is the jealousy and greed that comes with desire. But overall, desire is something that can be controlled. If you turn her at the right angle, you only see light colors. Desire can be lovely, or it can be ugly. Desire represents the things in my heart that keep me going, for one reason for another. Desire is something I don't want to cover up, but should once in a while.

My innermost layer...the core of my matryoshka doll... It is radiant...stunning in every way imaginable. Her design is one to be envied by the outer layers. Patterns that are in no way able to describe, unless you were in Angel in Heaven. There are no dark colors on her, not even a hint of gray. She is too amazing to behold such dull colors. This layer, is my favorite. This layer is called...happiness. Happiness is the greatest feeling in the world. But, however, my happiness layer is small. So small, I sometimes lose it, and it take forever to find it again. I cry, rage, or make rash decisions when I can't find it. But once I find it again, I can smile. A genuine smile. One that no one has seen since she was hidden beneath the other layers. Right now, I can't find her, but when I do, I will feel my soul again. It will thaw, and I will feel that feeling of warmth that I miss so much. Don't you see...happiness is the good. How else can it be described but...how it is something I never wanted to cover up, and never should've...and now it's gone...and I may never find it again.

...

...

"Hey! Russia! Former commie-bastard!" an annoyingly familiar voice shouted.

Russia blinked, his confusion showing intensely in his eyes. He looked over the room. All the nations stared at him. Not in a bad way. But it was hard to tell what kind of stare it was.

"What..?" he asked, blinking once more.

"You...you've been spacing out for ten minutes...with this smile on your face and rosy cheeks," England pointed out.

"What were ya thinkin' about, dude?" America asked, poking him in his large, pinkish nose.

Russia just looked up and smiled brighter.

"Matryoshka dolls..."


End file.
